Currently...

...T is watching "Hairspray" and tapping his foot to the musical numbers. Heavens.

...I am praying for Iris. Her intestines did indeed perforate and they're going to put a drain in her side either tonight or tomorrow morning (inserting the drain takes less than two minutes). The bad news is that this may mean more serious intestinal surgery later on. The good news is that some perforations close on their own. The other good news is that the relief on her tummy will be almost immediate and it should lower her need for oxygen since the belly poofiness has her requiring more oxygen than may be warranted.

...I am thinking about pie.

...I'm counting down the minutes until I can go to bed.

...I am feeling very stressed about returning to work and balancing that with visiting Iris, being tied to the breast pump that I go to third base with every 2 hours, delivering some sort of work product and perhaps most importantly, spending time with T and E. I have no bloody idea how I'm going to fit all that in. It kind of makes me hyperventilate. Like a lot.

...I am feeling dorky excited about a rather fabulous dry cleaning deal passed onto me by B. We spend a ridiculous amount on dry cleaning and so I can't wait to take advantage of it. Thanks, B!

...I am now getting up out of my chair for pie...

Step away from the pie

Today was a better day.

Iris still has one cranky tummy issue going on. Apparently the breast milk they started her on pissed her intestines right off. The neonatologist broke it down to three options as to what's going on right now: She has a perforated intestine. This is the worst of the options as it would mean a stop-gap procedure now and surgery later. OR--She has a teeny hole in her intestines and it's causing her belly to poof up. This is still bad, but these holes close up on their own, so no additional procedures needed. OR--She has a nasty infection that is causing her intestines to be inflamed. Again, not great since this inflammation could reach her lungs which are finally beginning to look better since her birth. But in this case they started her on antibiotics at the first sniff something was amiss, so this issue would be smoked by those meds.

Sigh.

The possible inflammation is also affecting her kidneys, so her diapers aren't as wet. They've started her on Dopamine to regulate her renal functions and smooth things over there. That med isn't a long term need since once the guts issue regulates itself, the kidneys will go back to being normal like they were before it all began.

Double sigh.

So, for those keeping track at home--this is what the list looks like:

Shout Out to JC:

• Her pulmonary something-or-other or PDA is closed (for most super preemies, this remains open and sometimes meds or surgery are needed).
• No brain bleeds (again, super common for mega early babies and the bleeds can be mild to really severe).
• No perforated intestine. Yet?
• No clots in her legs due to the lines they've put in her belly button.
• The scrapes on her head from the delivery process have healed and all I see is straight, black hair like E had when he was born.
• Fabulous nurses
• She's made it a week

Things That Will Resolve Themselves, So It's Better If I Don't Think About Them:

• Being on Dopamine for her temporary kidney issues
• Struggling with the initial feedings (preemie guts are really immature, so this is common)

Holy Jesus, For Real?:

• The dodgy intestinal issues that may or may not require surgery
• The hole in her heart between the two lower chambers. This may (although, probably not) close on its own, and if it doesn't she will need to have open heart surgery once she's older and healthier.
• The fact that the doctors still refer to her as a "very sick baby." Yeah, I get it. She and Noah should still be inside. Thanks for pointing that out. Butthead.

In other news, T and I have fallen into a deep hole that is called A Slice of Pie in the Evening. More specifically, we can't stop eating key lime pie. It's really sort of turned ugly. It's been hard for me to know how much to eat in order to keep my milk supply up yet also acknowledge the fact that I'm no longer pregnant and shouldn't eat like a trucker. Tough balance, or at least I'm finding it to be.

Also, my tummy is fairly gelatinous in nature and it's kind of creeping me out. I'm pretty sure the Pie Situation is not helping things firm up.

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, I want to say thank you to everyone who has left kindness and thoughtfulness and faith in their Comments. I don't know many of you, so it astounds me that so many would offer to lift up our family in their daily lives. "Thank you" doesn't even begin to cover how your reassuring words have affected my heart and made me--us--feel cared for.

Thank you.

Manic

Today was a rough one. Not, of course, that the others haven't been; but there's a definite difference between Crap and Sweet Lord, Really?

This week T and I are both off work and we've fallen into the rhythm of getting ready in the morning, dropping E off at daycare (we're trying to keep his schedule and routine as much the same as we can), getting breakfast, heading to the hospital for a few hours, heading home for a bit, heading back to the hospital for another few hours, picking E up from daycare and then spending some time together. It leaves both of us tapped the eff out by the end of the day but T stays up until 11 or so with me because that's the last time I pump before passing out in a Vicodin laced stupor. Although, T and I are absolutely exhausted in about 479 ways, falling asleep and wondering what dreams await us make us both positively twitchy.

As for today, both of our visits to see Iris had us walking into a flurry of x-rays and bad news. We've been trying so very hard to hold onto whatever we can, that these set backs just feel like they're trying to wipe that slate clean. There were a few nuggets of good news, but they were then kind of swallowed up by our visit to the funeral home to finish the arrangements for Noah. It wasn't until today that I was able to fully comprehend the sentiment that a parent shouldn't have to bury a child.

T and I continue to find small ways to laugh and hug each other and be strong when the other one isn't. He continues to amaze me. Without him by my side through all of this, I would've surely thrown in the towel by now.

E is between runny noses, so we're mulling over when to take him to see Iris. Perhaps this weekend--in between going to the library and shopping for new shoes. For him, life moves on each day.

For us, the future scares the Holy Christ out of T and me. I've never been so frightened of something in all my life. So many unknowns.

Noah and Iris

I've been avoiding the internet, my email and phone calls from people like the plague. The evenings make me want to runaway from home, and when I leave the hospital and her bedside I want to weep because I already miss her. The only easy part of the day is when I wake up and get to see E's smiling face. From there the day is a horrendous ride of ups and downs, not knowing what T and I will be dealt. I feel like God holds the cards and won't let me see them. I miss the baby who I can't take home and I miss the baby I'll never get to hold again.

I don't even know how to start with what's been going on at our home, but a part of me wants to tell you because so many sent kind thoughts while I was pregnant.

At 8:00am last Thursday I had my Weekly Appointment of Doom.

At 9:30am they rushed me over to the hospital.

At 10:00am they told me I had to have an emergency C-section.

At 11:16am Noah and Iris were born.

At 11:22am Noah was no longer with us.

Iris has been in the NICU ever since.

I keep hoping that this is somehow not our reality, but it is and it's horrible.

Holy crap on a stick

We seem have slapped with what Google turns up hits on as the 18 month sleep regression. I can only think of two other times when such craptastic sleeping was blessed upon us: hitting the 4 month mark and whenever E is sick.

At four months, E took to waking up and babbling in his crib from the hours of 3:00am-5:00am. Equal parts enchanting and "wtf, mate?". Granted, I'd just leave him in there because as Red Door often says, "Nothing hurts. Go back to sleep." but I'd be awake until he passed back out. This still happens.

When sick, I'm a little less hard nosed. I'm not a super fan of raising up from my horizontal position, but when hearing E hack and whatnot--my heart does soften. A tidgy.

In the last week or so, we are starting to experience what I think is this alleged regression the interwebs, and other tortured souls, speak of. For naps this weekend, E would go down like a champ, sleep hard for 30 minutes and then wake up crying. T and I would stare wide-eyed at each other from our cozy spot in the living room because, hells bells, we were not reeeadddy for E to get up. We need an hour. Minimum. Two and some change is even better.

With T doing the majority of the baby-wrangling, it has turned him into a staunch enforcer of the crying it out. I guess when you're the lone wolf post-nap, buying extra time at the expense of some tears isn't such a hard decision to make.

At any rate, after a few minutes E would locate a pacifier (one of EIGHT we've strategically placed in his crib) and his taggie and pass out.

This also happened Monday night and last night. I guess Monday night he woke up crying, "paSEE! paSEE!" T rushed upstairs to find him on all fours with his eyes still shut (uh, kind of hard to find the pacifier like that, kid). I guess he popped one E's mouth, rubbed his back and crept out all stealth-like, careful to avoid the creaky board located centrally between the crib, the sound machine and the door.

Last night at 3:13am he again woke up crying. Not quite the shrieks when he has a night terror (those are horrible to hear), but kind of more along the lines, "Hey! What the...? Someone give me a hug, dammit! NOOOOOOWWWW." Despite the darkness, T and I lay perfectly still--for fear that E would hear or sense our movement and become even more incensed. If my memory serves me, isn't this what you're also supposed to do if encountering a bear in the woods?

Because we know our son and because we know our son's cries, we felt moderately confident in ignoring him. Meaning, we didn't exactly fall back asleep, but we didn't get up and make eye contact. Granted if T had ripped off his Scuba Steve mask, shuffled in there, picked E up and rocked him--E would've passed back out. Until it was time to be placed back in his crib. Then it would've been a cycle of his eyes shooting open, tears commencing and T eventually having to decide on the cry it out then. Being the experienced parents/suckas that we are, we were able to foresee that scenario in .005 seconds and make the decision to lie in bed.

Similar to over the weekend, E found a pacifier and his taggie and was out with only 10 minutes of general malaise.

Oh! And he slept until we woke him up at 8:00am, so I guess there's something to be said for a little crying and venting at night.

10 Wednesday afternoon tidbits

1. In a lively discussion here at work about just how bad does it really hurt to get kicked in the nuts, a co-worker deemed the anatomical female equivalent "lady junk."
2. In an effort to bulk up, my doctor suggested I drink an afternoon shake of Carnation Instant Breakfast. The nonsense is putrid and I now need an alternative.
3. We were paid early due to Veteran's Day tomorrow. Holla.
4. If I'm still pregnant this weekend, I'm going to start receiving the steroid shots to help speed along lung development. Am chugging towards 24 weeks like a woman on a mission. (Edit: I reread that sentence before hitting "Publish" and instead of "lung" I typed "lunch." Lunch development, indeed.)
5. We still have not grocery shopped. We now have even less food in the house. I can clearly see the back of the refrigerator. From across the room.
6. It is 4:15pm and I've accomplished not so very much this afternoon.
7. My boots still fit around calves which means water retention has yet to reach epic proportions.
8. In addition to #2, the Carnation Instant Breakfast has left me with ass breath. At work. Nice.
9. I got a manicure a week and a half ago from a new place in town and while it definitely doesn't look like a fresh jobbie and my cuticles are kind of snaggly, overall it still hasn't chipped. !!!
10. In the past week, three orders of mine (two hot chocolate and one Boston Market-related) have been screwed up. This makes me want to pistol-whip someone (no, not you, T).

No explanation needed

Working in reverse in recalling this weekend, I'd like to start off by saying it is no wonder to me that people get hooked on Mellow Goodtime Drugs like Vicodin.

I've reached that stage in pregnancy that when sleeping my back sometimes hurts and my hips always hurt. I'm 6 months this week and I don't remember feeling this way until I was at the super very end in my pregnancy with E. Ugh.

Anyway, because I was feeling a hot mess with those two things and desperately wanted a fabulous night of sleep, I took one of the Vicodin that my ob gave me during the Kidney Stone Debacle. I was out and heavy breathing and uber comfortable within 15 minutes (or by 8:45pm to be precise). It was lovely. When initially prescribed the Vicodin in the hospital I asked if it was okay to use it while pregnant and the doctor said it was--but that it would have the same effect on the babies as it would me. Meaning Sleepytime USA for all three of us.

A good night's sleep came in so very handy last night because Sunday was chockful of whatnot, mainly going to Toys R Us to buy E a few big boy toys in the morning and having E dedicated at church in the afternoon. All in all, I spent way to much time on my feet.

T and I decided to not wait until Christmas to buy E a few toys because we realized a few weeks ago that the boy has very little to play with. I stashed his baby toys quite awhile ago and this left him with bupkis. It was pathetic, really. And it really only becomes apparent on the weekends when he has 48 straight hours at home. Anyway, we sprang for a mini-workbench and a shopping cart with little foods. E is a fan of the mini-syrup.

After putting everything together, wrangling E down for a nap and then stuffing him into a sweater vest--we headed to church to have him dedicated. It went smoothly, but at one point, when our pastor had been talking for too long, the crowd--made up mainly of those under 3 feet tall--turned decidedly restless. We only managed to keep E marginally quiet by stuffing him full of goldfish crackers and entertaining him with boardbooks.

Oh, and it was 73 degrees here on Sunday. While I enjoyed it, whenever freak weather like that happens--I end up stroking my imaginary beard and feeling like the old guy in The Day After Tomorrow who is decidedly suspicious of the weather. Because, you know, in a minute it means the Apocolypse for anyone north of the Mason-Dixon line.

Saturday was full of me feeling like a hot mess for no particular reason and not taking a shower until 3pm and then only under duress from T because we had to be somewhere and wouldn't it be nice if I smelled better? Pfft. Later that afternoon, E and I got our H1N1 shots where the nurse exclaimed that E has nice thighs (can't remember the last time someone told me that). He cried for a hot minute but then was comforted by a sticker with a dog and flowers on it. So easily bought.

Changing topics a bit, T and I are beginning to experience with E what we can only explain as Being a Toddler (or Being a Pill, as I've started to feel). E goes limp like a protester when the mere fabric of his coat hits his arms. It's, like, "Coat? What the hell do you want from me, people?" Because I can't bend over to save my life and T is usually upstairs still trying to put on his pants, I either end up trying to speak calmly and explain what's happening or lifting his limp-noodle-like 30 lbs to a point where putting the coat on is do-able. Shoes are more easily maneuvered since he can flail like a fish and I can still stuff those on his feet. Coat and shoes. Damn. Who knew that injustice lay in the heart of Pediped? We've yet to experience him being a consistent pill at other times. He still listens reasonably well for being 17 months, but, again, it's becoming apparent that E has a will and he wants to exercise it.

What else happened this weekend...

Nothing really. I'm still pregnant which is good.

Oh! In yet another turn that will make weaning an absolute beyotch, E has learned how to say pacifer, or paci as we call it in our house. He says it with a lovely, almost French accent with emphasis on the second syllable. It comes out, "paSEE." Yesterday evening we had dinner at my parents house and homeboy was burnt.out. Stuffing him in the carseat for the four minute ride home was clearly beyond him, and in between tears and snot he was wailing, "PaSEE! PaSEE!" Poor soul. T found one in his suit jacket and all was well.

We also failed to go grocery shopping this weekend and have absolutely zero food in the house. Dinner tonight should be interesting.

Anything particularly lovely happen over your weekend?